I've had a lot of action in my bedroom for the past few nights. Not the kind you were just thinking of.

While John is skiiing up on the Gunflint, I have Alf over here, as well as Miss Vegas Kitty. They both like to sleep in here with me, and although I don't let Alf up on the bed, Miss Vegas certainly has no qualms about sleeping where ever she damn well pleases, including sometimes on my head, where she's either pushed off gently or batted off not gently, depending on what phase of sleep/exasperation I'm in. Alf is allowed on most of the beds, among the households of my ex, me, and the cabin, but here he seems content enough to just lay on the floor beside the bed, on the rug.

My ex and I always had a dog. On one of our fist dates, John took me out to show me the log cabin he was building, and he spread out a blanket on the ground where we were going to sit and have some wine, and look at the gorgeous fall scenery. Tara, his new golden retriever puppy, promptly stepped up and peed all over the blanket, thus ruining the magic of the moment. Tara was a sweetheart, with a kind, gentle temperament. As she aged, she became grey around the eyes, and appeared to be wearing glasses, so we nicknamed her The Grandmother.

Our next dog was Cecil. She was brought to us very early one Saturday morning in the arms of a guy John worked with. He'd brought the puppy home, and his wife said either he or the puppy was not going to be residing there, his choice. Cecil was about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, waddling around, sniffing the corners of our kitchen. How do you say no to that? We had Cecil a long time, she was our baby, spoiled, fat and sassy, really sassy. She had a cat-like personality, rather disdainful toward others, but sweet and loving to John and me. We loved her dearly, as we had loved Tara. Cecil died unexpectedly and tragically, and while I don't want to write about it, suffice to say - when we were able to pull ourselves together enough to walk out of the Blue Cross Animal Hospital's surgical area - rumpled, in sorrow and in shock, every pet-loving face in the waiting room registered deep sympathy, empathy and understanding. Pet lovers know.

Then came Alf. We found him and adopted him from the AHS. He was brought to them by someone who discovered him, lost and injured. He had a mangled front leg and other injuries, and would have normally been put to sleep. However, they had a new doctor on duty that night, and she decided to amputate the bad leg. Then they kept him for about three months while he healed. He is Something. He's the kind of dog you meet and just want to take him home with you. If you've met him, you know what I'm saying. You know what a charmer he is.

The joy our pets have brought into our households is immeasurable. My ex and I share Alf; and Miss Vegas Kitty (aka social butterfly, the princess of snuggling) is welcomed at his house too, anytime. They both love to go to the lake of course. Did I just describe a three-ring circus? Maybe, but always - always, so worth it.

Our pets are pretty notoriously spoiled, but there is no way we can ever give them in return, all they give to us.